


Caught in this Web of Truths

by comtessedebussy



Series: Strippers n' Assassins 'verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Handcuffs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel's relationship starts to get more .. complicated. Feelings are messy, but the complex web of truths and lies they've spun to keep themselves safe is even more messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in this Web of Truths

It turns out, Cas did see Dean again. His visits remained sporadic and unpredictable, but on the nights that Dean did come, he more than made up for his absences. He would fuck Castiel into the mattress hard enough that he could feel it for days, which made the weeks until his next visit just bearable.

Tonight started out like any other night – with a dance. Castiel in Dean’s lap, Dean’s hands roaming possessively, shamelessly, over naked skin. The music blared loudly, but he ignored it, intent on the man gyrating his body gracefully in front of him. Offering his body for Dean to take. Well, he wasn’t going to refuse. He glanced over at the bouncers that stood, impassive as pillars, around the room, watching with hawk-like eyes.

“Don’t they care that I’m violating the rules?” Dean asked.

“They know you’re a regular, so they were happy to oblige when I asked them to let it slide,” Cas replied.

“Breaking the rules for me, Cas?” Dean asked, smirking contentedly. He ran his hands down Cas’ back to cup his ass. Cas let out a strangled sound.

“ _Dean,_ ” he protested.

“What?” Dean asked innocently. “I thought the rules weren’t for me.”

“Do you have any idea,” Cas asked, leaning against him and breathing into his ear, “what you are _doing_ to me?”

“Some,” Dean murmured, his hands still stubbornly in their place. “Come on, how about a private dance, Cas?”

Cas sat back and looked at Dean. Usually Dean preferred his dances in the large room with the stage, where all the other customers could see that Castiel was unabashedly _Dean’s._ They didn’t get to put their hands on the dancer like he did. But, if Dean wanted to take him back to the small curtained-off cubicles where more private…encounters…occurred, he was happy to oblige.

Castiel rose gracefully from Dean’s lap, and, with the wave of a generous bill (a fifty, Castiel could tell), Dean sauntered over to the row of red curtains. Inside, the cubicle was cozy, lit just right between dimly and brightly, with a wide plush couch. Dean sat back, and Castiel resumed his position on his lap.

The music was quieter here, which Dean appreciated, but still loud enough for Castiel to rock his hips gracefully to it. The damn man could probably look graceful dancing to the tune of screeching violins. He was, in a word, irresistible.

Not that Dean planned on resisting his charms tonight. In fact, quite the opposite. He put his hands on Castiel’s ass again, pulling the man closer to him and eliciting protests again. Dean only smirked, one hand trailing over Castiel’s body to cup his balls. Castiel made a loud noise of protest.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said, rubbing his hand in suggestive movements. Castiel’s body had always been so responsive, and even now it took only a few movements of his hand for him to feel Castiel hardening.

“Dean, please, not _here,_ ” Castiel begged. He’d stopped moving, which was a shame, really, as it left all the work to Dean. He rubbed his hand insistently against Castiel, and when the man attempted to move away, restrained him with a hand on the hip. “Yes, Cas, _here,_ ” he ordered. Castiel looked unconvinced, so Dean leaned in, murmuring “for me” into his ear.

And after that, Castiel was pliant in his hands. Dean relieved him of his tight black briefs – the only piece of clothing the dancers wore – and watched in amusement as a cascade of money fell to the floor with it.

Then Castiel climbed back into his lap and reached behind him. Dean watched in awe as Castiel moved in tune to the music, fucking himself on his own fingers for Dean and looking like he was doing nothing more than an everyday dance in the process. He threw his head back, exposing the long line of a graceful neck. Dean watched the curves and lines of his body in awe. Castiel didn’t even seem aware of what he was doing to Dean. _God,_ he was mesmerizing. Dean felt himself hardening just looking at him. “Come on then,” he encouraged, growing increasingly frustrated at Castiel’s languid, controlled movements.

Castiel opened his eyes wide, looking at Dean in protest. He wasn’t ready, not yet, and Dean’s interest in him, it seemed, did not extend far enough to being considerate and bringing lube. Undoing Dean’s belt quickly, he sank down slowly, throwing his head back and wincing. It _hurt._ His body accepted the intrusion reluctantly, and he found himself gripping Dean’s shoulders more tightly than he should as he waited for his body to adjust.

He felt Dean’s hands on his back, running up and down slowly, gently. “Sssh, I’ve got you,” Dean whispered in what was possibly the tenderest voice Castiel had ever heard him use. Cas buried his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, breathing slowly and allowing his body to adjust as Dean ran hands up and down his sides and rubbed circles in his skin. Eventually he felt his body grow just accustomed enough to the intrusion to start moving slowly. Dean let out a contented noise as he sank down again, slowly. And again.

“I’ve got you, Cas,” Dean murmured into his ear again, and with Dean’s encouragements whispered in his ear, he moved faster. It still burned, stretched him too widely from the inside, but at least now the pain was coupled with pleasure, with that familiar feeling of Dean filling him up just right and hitting just all the right spots. Dean’s hands were on him still, holding his hips as if ready to control his movements if need be.

“Good, Cas, yes, _good boy,_ doing such a good job for me…” Dean was still murmuring in his ear, though the words were not the ravings of a man lost in ecstasy. No, the tone was calm and steady, almost informative, almost like a teacher approving a student for an assignment well done. As if he had no idea what those words were doing to Cas, though Cas suspected Dean knew exactly how much they were taking him apart. It infuriated him.

He sped up, though his body protested, adamant on reducing Dean to the same incoherency he was currently feeling. 

“Good boy, taking my cock up your ass as if you were made for it. Cas, you’re perfect like this, you know that?” He continued. The calm with which Dean continued his stream of words enraged him, but the words themselves did nothing but increase his arousal. He was already so close…

Dean seemed to know that, too, because his hand moved to Cas’ own erection. For a second Cas though, with relief, that perhaps it was Dean being considerate, but his delusion lasted only a moment before Dean slipped a tight ring around the base of his erection. To his shame, his only response was a sound of protest that sounded helplessly inhuman.

“Can’t have you coming all over my expensive suit, can I, Cas?” Dean asked quietly. His hands dug into Castiel’s hips, forcing him to abandon his momentary stillness. He resumed his movements, clenching his hands into fists in frustration. He knew from experience that it was useless to beg with Dean. He would simply have to get through this. “I’ll make it good for you,” Dean whispered in his ear, and the words washed over him in relief.

Thankfully, Dean was close. Only a few moments later, Dean came inside him, holding him still as he filled him up. _At last,_ Castiel thought, thinking the movement of his relief was near. Dean, however, didn’t seem to share his sentiment. With one deft movement, he produced a plug (“you have a job to do, don’t you, Cas? No time to clean up, so this’ll do for the time being,” he explained) and placed it inside Castiel, sealing the come inside him. Then he stood up, graceful as always and buckling his belt, while Castiel watched. Dean withdrew two crisp bills from the pocket of his suit and held them out to Castiel.

“I’m not a hooker, Dean,” he protested, angry.

“Oh, this is for the dance. I know I get the sex for free,” Dean said. And with that he walked away, leaving Castiel to collect himself and his money. It was a while before he composed himself enough to don his small article of clothing and continue the job. The butt plug jabbed at him as he danced in other men’s laps, reminding him that he belonged to Dean as he bared his skin for faceless strangers. His whole body felt tense and on edge, waiting with increasing frustration for this to just _end._

Finally it was over, and he sat in the empty dressing room, waiting in increasing agitation. The seconds seemed to trickle by, slower than the lazy drip of water from frozen ice. It was all he could do to stop himself from taking matters into his own hands, giving himself his own release.

But no. He couldn’t. Not without Dean.

Just as he felt like starting to climb the walls, Dean showed up. Castiel didn’t think he’d ever been this happy to see Dean. He jumped up with a quick “Dean” of greeting.

“Cas,” Dean replied. “You waited for me?”

“Yes,” Cas breathed.

Dean smiled, walking over to Cas.

“I’ve got you,” he said reassuringly, turning Cas around slowly. “I’ve got you,” he whispered again, pressing himself against Castiel. Castiel leaned back against Dean’s warm, reassuring presence; he felt Dean’s hands on his zipper, then freeing his erection. Dean’s hand was steady and confident as it moved, and Castiel threw his head back onto Dean’s shoulder, succumbing mindlessly. “You waited for me like a good boy,” Dean whispered in his ear, and Castiel moaned in acquiescence.

He knew this wouldn’t take long, not with an evening’s pent-up frustration inside him, and Dean seemed to know that. He sped up, moving his other hand up Castiel’s body to his neck. Castiel let out a surprised intake of breath, but Dean only pressed down lightly, his touch the merest suggestion of a threat, but it was enough. The feel of one hand, holding Castiel’s life so easily in it, while the second moved as if it knew every secret of his body, dragged Castiel’s release from him. He sank completely into Dean, allowing the taller man to hold him up as he trembled with pleasure. Hand still around Castiel’s throat, Dean whispered soft praises into his ear.

After a few moments, his eyes fluttered open again, the whole world falling into place again now that his orgasm no longer seemed like it would tear him apart in tearing out of him. Dean was still behind him, holding him and waiting patiently as Castiel regain the use of his senses.

“Well, come on, then,” Dean said, and Castiel felt a soft fabric being tied around his eyes.

“Dean?”

“I’m not done with you for tonight, Cas. Come on,” Dean said, and Castiel felt the familiar cold metal of a gun pressed against his skin. He obeyed.

..

Dean’s bedroom looked much the same as ever. Plush carpet, thick curtains, well-made bed, all in tones of deep red. Castiel wondered why someone who seemed to be so familiar with different methods of killing would want to decorate his room in different shades of blood, but soon shrugged it off. He liked the color. It exuded warmth.

Having cleaned up quickly in Dean’s bathroom, he now stood naked, waiting for Dean’s instructions. They came in the form of two pairs of handcuffs that Dean handed to him.

“Put them on,” Dean ordered. Castiel took them wordlessly, fastening a cuff around each wrist and looking up at Dean, who nodded at the bed. Lying down on the familiar bedspread, he spread his arms. Dean walked over to him quietly, and Castiel watched as Dean cuffed each of his wrists to a bedpost.

Dean disrobed – Castiel watched him, in awe as always – before taking something that glinted in the lamplight from a table. It was a knife, he saw, as Dean climbed on top of him and trailed it over his skin. The knife came dangerously close to sensitive areas, and he froze, watching Dean. Dean trailed the knife away, down the inside of his thigh, pressing down just hard enough to graze the skin. Castiel shifted on the bed, arousal hitting him as Dean toyed with the blade, pressing its cold edge against him, eliciting sharp pinpricks of pain.

“The things you let me do to you, Cas,” Dean drawled. “You don’t let anybody else do them to you, do you?”

“There is nobody else.”

“No? No other men when I’m not around, Cas?”

Cas shook his head. “Just you.”

“Really?”

“I’m yours, Dean.”

Dean’s response to that was something between a scoff and a smile.

“Huh. Cause, you know, I fuck other people from time to time. In fact, just two days ago I had a couple of hookers here. Gorgeous women. You should’ve seen the way they begged for my cock. Almost as well as you.”

Castiel stared at him, mouth parted and eyes wide. He had no doubt that the sadness in them was easily visible. Yet when Dean looked into his eyes, what he saw there seemed to make him strangely content.

“Did you fuck them with a gun too, these women?” castiel asked. It was the only way he knew to retaliate.

“Nah. You’re the only one fucked up enough to get off with a gun up his ass.”

“But you like that,” Castiel said carefully. “The things I let you do to me, you like doing them. A lot,” he added unnecessarily.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “But you like them more. In fact, you _need_ me, Cas. I bet you can’t get off with other men now, can you?”

Castiel didn’t answer, but his silence, he knew, was all the answer Dean needed. He hummed contentedly, trailing the knife slowly up Castiel’s chest towards his neck.

“You know,” he said, in an almost informative tone, “this knife is so sharp that if I slit your throat, you wouldn’t even feel it.”

Castiel looked up at Dean and smiled. Dean pressed the knife against his throat, just on the edge of painful, and still Castiel smiled, and closed his eyes. He heard Dean chuckle lightly before reaching for something.

Evidently Dean had taken pity on him and his already aching body– at least, that was the only explanation Castiel could think of – because that? That was definitely lube. And _that,_ that was definitely Dean taking his time with preparation. Which, of course, resulted in nothing less than Dean fucking Castiel through the mattress. Dean pressed a knife to his throat as he fucked him, and Castiel lost himself between two sensations, the knife digging into his skin and the feel of Dean splitting him in two. The handcuffs chafed at his wrists, doubtless leaving bruises, and Castiel reveled in the myriad sensations Dean provided him with. He gifted him with a whole spectrum of pain and pleasure until Castiel lost himself.

In fact, he was so lost in the sensations that when Dean whispered “come for me” into his ear, it came almost as a surprise. His second orgasm of the night was even more satisfying than the first, and Dean watched him through the whole thing, knife still pressed against his skin.

After which – and Castiel supposed he really shouldn’t have expected anything else – Dean was back to businesslike, dressed in no time at all and uncuffing Castiel. The rest was silent and wordless as Castiel went through their regular routine of clean up and blindfolding. Dean’s features were impassive until Cas lost sight of him due to the fabric around his eyes.

It was only when he got home, sore, aching, and growing increasingly aware of reality now that the hazy veil that bliss had drawn over his eyes was removed, that he began to come to some realizations. Prime among them being, that it was probably best for his own self-interest to avoid Dean. Behind the ecstasy of his time with Dean, there was Dean’s utter, uncompromising, coldness, which nothing would chip away at. He had demonstrated that today. What had at first attracted him in this dangerous, lethal man was slowly becoming less attractive as the emotional scales of their relationship obviously tipped. Dean would always be cold and unreciprocating, and it was best that he leave before he got in too deep.

He switched up his shifts at the club, dancing at different times and on different days than he had before. He avoided lingering in the dressing room after his shift, leaving quickly as soon as he changed, and sometimes in the company of colleagues with whom he shared a cab. Thus, he managed to successfully avoid Dean for several weeks.

Then, walking home one evening, he heard a familiar “Hello, Cas.” He froze. He should’ve known Dean would find him. The man knew where he lived, after all, had driven Cas home multiple times.

He turned slowly. Dean was sauntering towards him, the setting sun behind him. It highlighted his brown hair and threw his sun-kissed, freckled skin into relief. The cut of his suit was perfect as always, flattering as it outlined his figure, and Castiel stared. This, he reminded himself, was why he had started to avoid Dean.

“Avoiding me, Cas?” Dean asked, coming to stand inches from him.

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“Why do you care?” He asked.

“Because. You’re _mine._ ”

“Am I?”

“You said so yourself,” Dean pointed out, and Castiel had no retort for that.

“Well, I decided that it would be in my own self-interest to stay away from you, Dean.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Really? Why’s that, Cas?”

Castiel stared at him. The obvious answer, the true one, refused to come to his lips. Dean stared into his eyes, his gaze demanding and perceptive at once.

“Is it because you like me, Cas?”

Castiel looked away quickly, which, he realized, was the most damning thing he could’ve done. He looked up at Dean gingerly, and regretted it instantly. Those green eyes would be the death of him.

“More than I should. That’s why you need to stay away from me, Dean. Please.”

“Really, Cas?” Dean stood pressed against him, their faces almost touching, and Cas hated the way that all Dean had to do was stand in front of him for him to lose all of his resolve. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “As you wish,” he said, sauntering away. Cas watched him go, carefree as the wind.

“Wait.”

Dean turned with such perfect poise that Castiel swore that he was expecting it.

He looked at Dean, drank up the sight of him as if he hadn’t just spent five minutes staring into the man’s face. Dean looked – well, he looked _perfect._

“I missed you,” he confessed.

Dean strode over to him, smiling contentedly.

“I know.”

Dean fucked him that night as if he wanted to punish Castiel for daring to think he belonged to anyone but Dean. For daring to think, of all things, that he belonged to himself.

“You’re mine,” he growled into Castiel’s ear, and he made Castiel repeat it, again and again. He made Castiel beg, again and again, for his release; he brought him to the edge, again and again, only to deny him. Finally, after he was broken and worn out from Dean using his body mercilessly for hours, Dean let him come. He sobbed in relief, sinking back into the pillows, and for once, Dean left him there. Castiel drifted off to a few hours of sleep on Dean’s bed before being woken by the sun and Dean’s patient stare. Dean drove him back home, as always, and left him on the sidewalk with a whispered “don’t you ever fucking do that again.” As if Castiel needed reminding.

..

Dean was content.

Castiel, it seemed, was finally _his,_ beyond all doubts. He’d tried to get away once, but Dean’s grip on him was too strong. Just as Dean had hoped.

He hummed contentedly as he loaded a gun. Today’s job should be quick and simple, its pay generous. As if he needed anything to improve his mood.

Of course, Dean was an old enough veteran of life at this point that he probably should have known that nothing ever went that well. Something in life always fell out of the sky to screw up his sunny day. And, ironically enough, this time it was Cas that fucked it all up.

He walked into the expensive hotel in which his target was holding a reception. Notable personalities of the city, from politicians to writers, mingled with glasses of champagne. It was crowded, and the security was, as usual lax, as Dean had found it often was for such gatherings. He’d had no problem sneaking several of his guns past security. He smirked. And they thought they were doing such an excellent job.

He scoped out the place. He’d been here several days before, learning the layout and the exits, but he figured it would be an excellent idea to know where the decorators had had the brilliant ideas of obstructing his escapes with ugly vases of flowers. That’s when he saw Cas.

The man looked completely different from what Dean was used to. He was wearing a well-cut suit, nothing so expensive as Dean’s own but quite respectable on his tall figure. His hair, instead of sticking up as if he’d just rolled out of bed, was brushed into a semblance of order, and there was even a flower in his buttonhole. Dean resisted the urge to laugh and ended up cursing instead. Castiel looked _sexy,_ and this was coming from a man who got to see Cas looking sexy on a regular basis. It was just – why did he have to look sexy _here?_

Castiel turned and spotted Dean. His eyebrows went up as recognition dawned on his face. There was nothing for it, Dean supposed. He’d have to acknowledged Castiel’s presence. He nodded curtly, and Castiel smiled at him before looking away. To Dean’s surprise, he didn’t approach him, turning instead to talk to an older man nearby. Dean brushed off the surprise, focusing on the task at hand. No time to wonder at Castiel’s ignorance of him right now, especially since it was such a blessing right now.

He scoped out the place quickly, and by the time he was down, most of the invitees had gathered in the large ballroom. Including his target. The man sat on the stage, in a chair set aside for him, and next to him was… _Castiel._ Fuck. Not only did Cas knew Dean was there, he also knew the man Dean was about to kill. Putting thoughts of how a stripper might know someone so distinguished, he focused on the job. He would eliminate the target, as planned. He had a clear shot from where he was hidden, and he could easily make his escape once the man was dead. The one problem, however, was Castiel. Castiel, who would guess in a heartbeat who the killer was. Castiel, who would betray him.

No amount of good sex, Dean knew, would protect him from being caught as a murderer. He would have to kill Cas. The thought wrung disappointment and bitterness from him, and he pushed them away. They were unexpected and unnecessary. He liked Cas in his life, but he also liked being alive.

He aimed and pulled the trigger. It was a clean shot, and the target went down easily. Then, quickly, while the crowd was still panicking over the first murder, he forced himself to concentrate on the second. He looked for Cas, but the man had disappeared. Dean blinked. It had taken him several heartbeats to pull the trigger, and in that time, Cas was….gone.

Without losing time, he enacted plan “escaping the hell out of here.” He would find Cas later. It wouldn’t be difficult. Cas didn’t know where he lived, couldn’t give him away before Dean got to him. He ran through a corridor and took a back stairwell, before running into…

He cursed. He had had enough coincidences for one day.

Cas was breathless and disheveled, but as soon as he saw Dean, relief covered his features.

“Dean. I know you did it.”

Without a thought, Dean pulled out his gun. Perhaps fate had smiled upon him. The perfect opportunity to make a clean job of it.

Castiel looked down at the gun, then back up at him, blue eyes wide. Dean swore the corners of Cas’ lips quircked up in a smile.

“They’re coming for you,” Cas said.

“I know, genius. That’s why I’m getting out of here,” he said, cocking his gun.

And still Castiel stared at him impassively.

“They’re surrounding the place. Whatever escape plan you have, I hope it involves not walking out of one of the actual doors of this place,” he pointed out.

Dean has suspected that would be the case. His plan, however, had involved getting out of this place before it was completely surrounded. Which, it seemed, was not an option now that Castiel held him up, gloating. All the more reason to kill the man.

In fact, he was just about to pull the trigger when the meaning of Castiel’s words hit him.

“You _hope_?” He asked. “As if you don’t want me to get caught.”

Castiel looked surprised, at that.

“Of course I don’t.”

Dean stared at him. It was most certainly too late to get away as he’d planned, now. All because of Castiel, too. As if the man wasn’t holding him up here on purpose. Well, he’d just have to hide out in the hotel and somehow manage to sneak out later. Maybe through the rooftop.

“I know another way out, Dean. Come with me.” Dean stared at him.

“You expect me to believe it’s not a trap?” he asked, gun still held to Castiel’s face. “Especially after you were getting so cozy with the dead guy?”

Castiel threw his hands in the air.

“We don’t have _time_ for this, Dean. You have to go. _Now._ Or are you planning on dying here?”

Slowly, it dawned on dean that perhaps Castiel really was on his side. Though why was a question he would have to explore later – if there was a later. If relying on Castiel didn’t destroy the possibility of their being a later.

“Well, what’s your plan, genius?”

“Take me as a hostage. I was, as you say, getting ‘cozy’ with the dead guy. They know me. It’ll let you get out.”

Well, Dean supposed. It was a logical solution. Why he hadn’t thought of it himself, he didn’t know. Perhaps because hostage-taking had never been one of his specialties. Clean kills, that’s what he was good at. Not the messy business of keeping people alive.

“Well, come on, then,” Dean said, striding over to Castiel. Cas turned obediently, pressing his body against Dean’s. Dean held the gun against his head and heard Castiel chuckle.

“Familiar, isn’t this?”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped. He concentrated on dragging Castiel with him, and Castiel, he had to give it to him, did a supreme job of pretending to be terrified and reluctant. That’s what probably sold the whole thing. There were gasps and screams when he appeared, a gun held to a man’s hand, and the security people, bless their souls, grabbed their guns and talked into their walkie talkies.

“I get out of here or he’s dead,” Dean announced, as if a hostage situation needed explaining. “I’ll send him back once I’m safe.”

Who knew it was as simple as that?  He and Cas got out without a scratch on them, and Castiel seemed to read all of his movements perfectly. He reacted with ease, as if this was a part he’d played before. Well, Dean supposed he had, in a different way. The whole trip to one of Dean’s hideouts went off without a hitch, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door. This place, he knew, was virtually unfindable unless one knew where it was. He was safe – for the time being.

Safe to deal with the one hanging thread in this mess.

He turned around. Castiel stood patiently, watching Dean with a calm but interested expression.

“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “Disappear. Make sure nobody knows I was ever here.”

Castiel looked sad at that.

“Will I ever get to see you again?” he asked.

“No, Cas, I don’t think you will,” he said, raising the gun and pointing it at Cas.

Cas looked at the gun in mild disinterest. This was perhaps the problem of using guns as sex toys, Dean realized with a growing feeling of dread. They ceased to be a weapon and became an accessory. Well, he had to congratulate himself. There were probably very few men on the planet who managed to make someone so utterly unafraid of a gun.

“It’s for the best this way. Goodbye, Cas,” he said, aiming the gun.

“Dean.” Castiel said his name softly, approaching him. He was only a few steps anyway, and he walked confidently towards the gun pointed up at him. And then he kept walking, until the gun in Dean’s hand ploughed into his chest. Right above his heart. And still it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Dean,” he said, softly, pressing their bodies together, ignoring the gun pressing against his chest.

And then Castiel kissed him.

It caught Dean completely off guard. He had never kissed Castiel before – Hell, he didn’t remember the last time he’d kissed anyone. Kisses were for people who loved, and he did not love. He fucked. But Castiel kissed him as if he knew what love was. Ignoring the gun between them, or perhaps reveling in it as he had every single other time that Dean had pressed the lethal object against his skin, he lost himself in the kiss.

This was for the best, Dean realized. He would kill Castiel as Castiel was kissing him. The man would die in a moment of ecstasy, in Dean’s arms. If he had to go, it was best that this is how he went. Quietly, he cocked the gun. If Castiel heard it, he ignored it, losing himself instead in Dean’s lips. Dean allowed himself a moment of bliss, savoring the feel of Castiel’s lips on his. He held the other man tightly, kissing him back roughly. Castiel moaned contentedly against his lips, his eyes fluttering closed. He looked peaceful as Dean pressed down on the trigger. 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Kristine for helping me develop this series so far!
> 
> And yes, there will be another installment.


End file.
